Yesterday, I was woken up by a text message from a girlfriend in Australia. She was on her morning walk and wanted to know if I had any advice on how she could lose the last stubborn 10 of her excess kilos. I told her I was struggling with the same and that the only way to do it is to cut out sugar and processed food, and start eating better.

“Surgery is the way to go then,” she replied. She was two weeks into her diet and had clearly had enough. Or, rather, not enough.

I totally understood where she was coming from because, trust me, I’ve considered it. And I still haven’t ruled it out, but my concerns regarding surgery are as follows:

1. Dying of complications. This would be the equivalent of dying of shame because “death by lipo” is possibly one of the most embarrassing ways to die. (Closely followed by “death by falling-coconut blow to the head”.) Because, of course, everyone will ask. And I don’t want my death to be a cautionary tale or, worse, a punchline at dinner parties.

2. More important, and more serious, than Reason Number One is: If I don’t have the discipline to exercise and eat right to get the weight off, then I sure as hell won’t have the discipline to exercise and eat right to keep the weight off. Which means that the weight will return, and in scary-odd places where I don’t want it to. Like my ankles. Or my elbows. Eek!

Of course, if I had the money then I’d just lipo every inch of my body except for my chest so that I can redirect fat to my boobs but, with my luck, I’m sure they’ll sag straight to my knees so…

So, yes, we’re stuck with the obvious.

I understand my friend’s frustration. I’ve only been seriously doing Paleo for 13 days and I’ve been despairing since Day One.

It’s such a freakin’ sacrifice, staying away from all things evil, that I think one day of good behavior should be immediately rewarded with chiseled abs.

Well, why the hell not?

Ah, yes, because there is that thing called “The Real World”. I always forget that…

That effin’ blows.

And in this godforsaken place, called “The Real World”, results take time.

Boy, they really do take their time, don’t they?

If only I had kept going when I started last year.

Argh! I know, I’m an idiot. I had reached my ideal weight and then went right back to everything that is good and evil in this world. Which led me right back to where I started.

Doh!

But, once again, I am inspired. Yes, I am. While posting on CrossFit MNL’s Facebook page, I stumbled upon this post, and the accompanying article, by John Britton, their new coach.

Five months between the before and after pictures. That’s a looooong time. 20 weeks, to be exact. I’m only 13 days into 30, for fuck’s sake, and I’m ready to strangle a gorilla.

But, yes, patience. It is a virtue, I’ve been told.

I have to believe that just because I can’t see changes doesn’t mean that there aren’t any taking place. Yesterday, I did a traveling workout (going from one end of the room to the other and back) while cleaning 30 pounds! And I did the farmer’s walk with two 28-kilo kettlebells. At the very least, I am getting stronger.

Five months? 13 days in. That’s another 137 days to go.

If you hear any reports about strangled gorillas, um… It wasn’t me.